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Child Owlet

by We Are Muffy

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about

Created for an epsiode of the Old Tunes Fresh Takes podcast curated by Debbie Armour, this is our version of Child Owlet (Child Ballad 291).
Struck by the subtle hints of tango in the cadences of the song, we opted for a doom-laden rhythm in which the ghastly events could unfold as easily on the Patagonian Steppe as Elkin Moor.

lyrics

Lady Erskine sits into her bower
A sewing a silken seam
A bonny shirt for Child Owlet
As he goes out and in

His face was fair, long was his hair
She's called him to come near
Oh, you must cuckold Lord Ronald
For all his lands and gear

Oh, lady, hold your tongue, for shame
Such things can ne’er be done
How can I cuckold Lord Ronald
And me his sister's son?'

She’s taken out the smallest knife
That lay beside her head
She’s pricked herself below her breast
Which made her body bleed

Lord Ronald’s come into her bower
Where she did make her moan
Oh, what is all this blood, he said
That shines on your breastbone?

Oh Child Owlet, your sister’s son
Is new gone from my bower
Had I not been a good woman
I’d have been Child Owlet’s whore

So he has taken Child Owlet
Thrown him in prison strong
And all his men, a council held
To judge Child Owlet’s wrong

Oh some they said that he should hang
Some said that he should burn
Some said they would have Child Owlet
Between wild horses torn

Ten horses in my stable stand
Can run right speedily
And you will to my stable go
And take our four for me

They tied a horse unto each foot
And one unto each hand
They’ve sent them out o’er Elkin Moor
As fast as they could run

There was no stone on Elkin Moor
No broom nor bonny whin
But’s dripping with Child Owlet’s blood
And pieces of his skin

There is no grass on Elkin Moor
No broom nor bonny rush
But’s dripping with Child Owlet’s blood
And pieces of his flesh

credits

released July 12, 2021

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about

We Are Muffy UK

While exploring the cover version as a form of folk music uniquely
defined by the era of sound recording, We Are Muffy fell into writing The Charcoal Pool, songs devoted to the peculiarities of growing up in Birmingham. Into the clear Cornish air they bring a whiff of the gasworks of Nechells, the drone of traffic on the Gravelly Hill Interchange and the splendour of the Chateau Impney. ... more

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